


When All Has Burned to Ashes

by TheArgentMoon



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7682935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArgentMoon/pseuds/TheArgentMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When all has burned to ashes, only the strong remain. When only the mighty reign, madness is sure to abound. In a world where kindness and compassion are about as deadly as a shotgun or grenade, a man’s dwindling humanity will be put to the test when he crosses paths with an injured scavenger just looking to survive another day. (May eventually be rated M)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Some coarse language in this chapter.

The sharp whistling of hot, gritty wind. _Scritch_. The muted pops of gunfire firing off somewhere not so far in the distance. _Scritch_. The blood-curling screams as unspeakable horrors were being wrought on unsuspecting - _scritch_. And above all, the ravenous, booming roars of the Forge. Always, the Forge.

A gentle crackle filled the air, followed by a triumphant cry, as the man propped up against the cool metal of the wall lit a worn match. It had taken a few tries and a scorched forefinger - for once he thanked God he had undergone the Trials or that would've hurt like a bitch - but he had finally gotten the damned match to light using an emery board he had scavenged a couple weeks back. He'd pried it from the cold, stiff fingers of the remnants of a woman whose face was mangled such that it had been nothing but a rotting, bloody, gaping hole. 

He hadn't touched the nail file for days afterwards.

But then life went on and he found himself itching for the comfort of burned tobacco curling pleasantly in his lungs and mouth and relieving the stress of the day - whatever it happened to be. There was always something, whether it was keeping watch around the perimeter in the dead of night, working the blazing furnaces all day, holding another failure's mouth open to make way for the molten iron Anvil would pour down the screaming man's throat, ripping another's desperate hands from the railings leading to the open area above the Forge or, worst of all, beating down the memories of an old life gone by. That used to be a constant battle.

It was a simple fact of life that need overruled sentiment, that letting emotions or the tiny little voice in your head get the better of you was no different than shoving the barrel of a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. Perhaps it was even worse. Through blades and burns and bruises and blood he had learned the proper way - the only way - to survive. Through the Trials he had emerged honed, whittled to stone cold perfection. Who he had been before didn't and couldn't matter. From that day on, he was Blaze. Just Blaze. Only Blaze.

"Told you it would come in handy," he called out over his shoulder as he cupped the precious wavering flame and raised it to the frayed end of his cigarette.

"Congratu-fucking-lations. You got yourself a smoke. Wanna actually do something useful now and take over? Been standing here for hours."

"Jeez. Get off my ass, Splint. I'm coming." 

A half-amused chuckle came from above. "Ha. Now ain't that a pretty picture."

After a few long drags of bliss, he pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the stairwell. He stuck the half-burned cigarette between his lips and picked up the assault rifle resting against the lit brazier. With a loud exhale, he slung the rifle over his shoulder and clambered up the stairs. When he reached the top he lightly whacked the man standing watch upside the head. 

"Mind's always in the gutters with you. Can't be healthy,” he said around the cigarette in his mouth.

"You're one to talk. Those things'll kill you, you know." The man turned his attention back to the barren expanse of land stretching for miles on end like a gigantic open grave. "Mind you, what won't?"

Splint was the closest thing to a friend he had - if friend meant anything like the person who had been chained down next to you so close you could feel his anguished screams reverberating in your chest and who sometimes ate night rations at the same table as you. At an impressive six feet tall with a well-built frame, he had obviously chosen the name Splint as a joke. Had it not been for his natural strength and marksmanship, Blaze knew the boss would've gouged his eyes out and branded the insides of his eyelids or thrown him in the furnaces alive for that.

There was always some kind of punishment being meted out, and it always had something to do with fire. 

"Hey," a gruff voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I’d pay attention if I were you. Nighttime's when the snipers come out to play. You remember Flicker? Nice tits, ass to die for - shame she had such an ugly nose… One who decorated this lovely part of the floor here?" He pointed with the tip of his shoe at the massive rust-coloured stain beneath their feet.

"Sniped. Head came clean off. Guess what shift she was on." He paused to clap a hand over Blaze's arm. "Night one."

Blaze shouldered his way past him. "Asshole," he muttered under his breath.

"If I come back and see your severed head on the floor, you know I'm gonna let you rot, right?" He quipped, already halfway down the stairs. "No fucking way I'm touching your corpse."

The shadow of a smile flickered across his face as he blew out another puff of smoke. "Yeah, I know."

The tendrils billowed and twisted in the air, writhing tormentedly under the unabating battering of the wind. He watched as they grew fainter and fainter until finally they dissipated into nothingness.

"Another boring night of guard duty," he said out loud to no one in particular.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Not a single blade of grass moved in the stillness of the night. The dusty wind blowing in from the east had finally passed, leaving behind only sandy deposits and empty silence in its wake.

Blaze shook out the remaining granules from the creases in his clothing, cursing quietly to himself when he felt some slip underneath the coarse fabric of the army fatigues he wore. As he shifted in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, a sudden flash of movement caught his eye.

His gun was up and out in a heartbeat. Peering through the scope of the rifle, he scanned the yard and fields ahead. Even with the bonfires burning in front of the building, it was too dark to make out much. Without night vision, it would be near impossible to find someone who did not want to be found.

When a few seconds had passed and nothing else had stirred, he let out a relieved sigh and lowered his gun.

"Jet must be making me jittery," he muttered to himself.

Chems weren't hard to come by, as nearly everyone carried some on them and no one would notice if a few items went missing from the loot pile here and there. Through years of practice, as well as a few others' fatal errors, Blaze had learned just how much he could sneak from the cache without the boss finding out. It had taken every ounce of patience he had and then some, but a strong aversion to being flayed alive and dumped into molten lava was incentive enough.

He didn't particularly enjoy the effects of chems. The shakes and shivers and nausea and hollowness were hardly worth the short-lived buzz they induced. Though for god knows what reason, other people did and would pay a fortune for them. Only on certain nights when the mind-numbing boredom became unbearable would he dip into his stash. It was risky, he knew, and someone could at any point find out, but no life came without risks.

He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to clear the haziness from his vision, but when that failed he resorted to simply staring into the far distance. Miles away he could see the faint outline of the old asylum up north. Its fairly intact, archaic architecture stood out like a sore thumb amidst the decrepit ruins of the crumbled world around it. There was something about the place that always set him on edge, that gave him a chill just thinking about it.

A muffled explosion somewhere to his right shattered the silence of the night. His gaze drifted lazily towards the distant fiery swell of smoke and ash. The fire burned gloriously and grandiosely, rising high and lighting up a sizeable block of the surrounding buildings, before it faded and disappeared. The next second, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

He sighed and fingered the trigger of his gun.

Sometimes, the rest of the Commonwealth felt like a world disconnected from the one the Forged had made for themselves. He had gone on his fair share of raids over the years and had gunned down his fair share of people; there were those who fought like him, those who fought from the shadows, those who ran and hid and those who did nothing at all. They were the ones that scared him the most. He wondered, and not for the first time, what would drive a person to give up like that. Everyone went through traumatic shit. It was just a part of life. And yet some emerged stronger and hardened from the wreckage, while others emerged broken and absent, as though they were already long gone.

Just as he was beginning to feel the lingering wisps of drug-induced disorientation ebb away, a voice hollered out from behind.

"Hey! Are you fucking deaf? I said to shoot the bastard down!"

As if a switch had been flipped, his body went on full alert. He whipped his rifle up and held in a breath of air as he aimed at the retreating figure ramming its way through the front gates. A pause, then his finger squeezed the trigger.

The man didn't even have time to scream. Blaze smiled at his handiwork as the body collapsed to the ground with a thump. A pocketful of caps spilled out and rolled across the blood-spattered dirt around him. He let out a quiet chuckle of amusement. People never did seem to understand that trying to buy your way into the Forged was not only useless but also offensive to the boss. Caps, chems and ammo didn't prove your worth. They only revealed your weakness.

The second figure limping and tripping to the fallen body silenced him.

She dropped to her knees, then wailed with such heartrending anguish that Blaze felt something akin to remorse. His breath caught. The girl, no older than a young woman just barely entering adolescence, dropped to her knees and hunched over the body lying on the ground in a pool of blood leaking from the gaping hole in its head. Suddenly, understanding dawned on him.

The man hadn't been trying to buy his way in, he had been trying to buy another out. Somewhere behind him another guard was still yelling at him to finish them off. Without thinking his arm automatically raised the gun. Without thinking he held in a breath of air and took aim at the shivering figure below. The mess of mousy brown hair was dead centre in his scope; it would be a perfect shot.

He only paused for a second, but the one second was all it took for the approaching guard to shove him aside and swiftly take aim. The sharp crack of the gun being fired too close rang deafeningly in his ear. He barely had time to catch his balance when he felt a sharp shove push him towards the edge of the building.

"Hey, are you crazy? I almost fell.”

The man looked at him with loathing and spat on the ground. "Am _I_ crazy? You're lucky I'm too tired to deal with telling the boss about this. Next time I tell you to shoot, you fucking shoot. Now get your ass back inside. The others are planning for another raid.”

He forcefully shouldered Blaze aside as he strode past him down the stairwell.

"Fucking…" Blaze trailed off, his gaze coming to rest on the small corpse still clutched tightly to the bloodied one beside it. They looked almost peaceful in death.

* * *

 When Blaze entered the main quarters, several others were already standing around a crudely drawn map of the surrounding area. The door audibly closed as he came in, bringing the conversation to a halt.

Anvil, the current leader and quite possibly the biggest man Blaze had ever seen, glared at him as he approached. His one good eye glinted as he growled, "You're late. Happens again and I cut those pretty eyes out, understood?"

"Yes, sir," came Blaze's curt reply as he found a spot around the table.

Anvil's sharp heavy armour clanked as he shifted and righted himself. At full height, he towered above everyone else. "Your orders are simple. There's been rumour of a cache of half-decent pre-war food somewhere in Lynn Woods."

He circled a spot on the map with a rough hand. "As you know, food hasn't exactly been in abundance 'round here. There'll obviously be some weak jackasses holed up near there, so burn them down and don't return 'til you've got the goods. That clear?"

When he was pleased with their responses, Anvil hauled the minigun up to rest on his shoulder and waved them off. "And make it quick. Man can only live on radroaches and irradiated water for so long."

As they were loading their gear, Splint casually walked next to Blaze. He gave his flamer a quick once-over and reached for some fuel tanks in the lockers lining the wall.

"Don't know why he's complaining. He's the one gets all the good stuff while _we're_ the ones eating radroaches washed down with muck water," Splint muttered.

Blaze glanced sideways at him with a smirk. "Don't let anyone else catch you saying that. Only reason I don't rat on you is because you give me your cigarettes."

"A filthy habit. I'll stick to shooting wild mongrels for kicks." Splint paused for a moment. "So what was all that about outside?" he said under his breath, eyes still focused intently on his weapon.

"Just some asshole trying to make off with one of the spoils. Others didn't take to it too well."

Splint resumed loading the fuel tank and flipping the safety off on his flamer. "And that's why old Mayhem's been badmouthing you?"

"Never mind, it doesn't matter." He snapped a full magazine into his rifle with practiced ease, stuffed two more in his pockets and turned to leave. "Let's go."

He wrenched open the door and fastened a foldable switchblade to his harness. The rusty, dulled blade never left his hip. He would call it something of a good luck charm if he actually believed in luck. His hand instinctively reached to clasp the blade protectively as the others shoved their way past him. He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to shoot each one of them in the head, as they pushed him aside and set off into the vast empty fields.

It was going to be a long journey.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought an update was long overdue, so voici the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it :)

“Get down!” 

Blaze dove behind an upturned slab of cement just as thousands of tiny shards of shrapnel exploded through the air. His shoulder hit the pavement, the impact jolting through his arm painfully. Through the high-pitched ringing in his ears he could hear the panicked screams as some of his slower companions were thrown into the air. He didn’t stop to mourn them.

A long, low whistle sounded - a form of communication he and Splint had developed over years of raiding together. 

He blew a sharp whistle in response, pressing his body closer to the ground as an onslaught of bullets whizzed by just inches above his head. “I need some cover fire!”

Splint needed no encouragement, already taking out the barely visible snipers hiding far beyond the other side of the road. Even in the heat of the moment, Blaze couldn’t help but take a second to admire his shooting. The man had skill. A few more single shots and the firing from the other side had finally trickled down to frenzied, erratic shots. 

“You coming, or are you just gonna lie there all day?” A voice hollered from the stretch of trees behind him. 

Blaze grabbed his gun and dashed for the woods, easily evading a few stray bullets that tore up the earth around his feet. He only stopped when his body was tucked safely behind a blackened tree trunk. Panting, he turned to Splint, who had his rifle poised in an unwavering grip. “I ever tell you what good timing you have?” 

“Are you going to tell me how much you love me next?” He turned around and fired a few more shots, not even in his casual haste wasting a single bullet.

Blaze scoffed as he took aim at an approaching figure. “Would you be hurt if I didn’t?” The bullet shattered his skull with a crack. Blood splattered the ground in heavy gushes, the body crumpling to the ground with a dull thud. 

“Devastated.” Splint chuckled, mumbling some crude jab of a sexual nature at him as he effortlessly took out two more attackers. 

Anguished shrieks and screams sounded from somewhere in the distance.

“Hey, hear that? Did the others get that far ahead?” Blaze shouted out.

“How about we focus on us first, then worry about those bastards?” 

“Fine by me.” 

He took a deep breath, then whipped around, shoulder flat against the side of the tree to steady his aim. A few more men emerged from the tree line, guns raised and firing in precise bursts. Blaze dodged to the side as a few shots passed a little too close for comfort. He waited until the firing came to a brief pause before ducking back out on the opposite side of the trunk. Before he could take aim, a single shot square in the chest felled a distant figure. Two more went down in quick succession with clean shots to the head. 

“Damn show-off,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Alright with that rifle, Blaze? Need any help?” Splint spoke through a smirk.

Ignoring the remark, Blaze scanned the rest of the field. “Is that it? I could’ve sworn there were more.” 

Splint straightened and cracked the stiffness out of his neck. “I think someone’s been having some trouble keeping up with my kill count.” 

He scoffed. “Alright, now you’re just getting annoying. Let’s go catch up with the others.” 

The last licks of fire burned feebly on the cracked concrete, shards of glass and quickly evaporating alcohol littering its surface. Splint kicked a severed arm out of the way as they made their way down the crimson-coloured road. 

Blaze crouched over a charred corpse, inspecting it roughly as he flipped it on its back and shoved his hand in the remnants of its pockets. 

“What’re you looking for?” Splint asked. “They’re all burnt to a crisp.”

Blaze grinned as his hand closed around a small rectangular box. He pulled it out and waved it in the air triumphantly. Bits of singed cardboard crumbled off in the wind. 

“Of course. Why do I even ask?”

He carefully opened the top to examine its contents. “A little worse for wear, but still intact.” After pocketing the few useable cigarettes left, he tossed the rest to the side and righted himself.

As they made their way to the other side of the road, something out of place flashed in the corner of his eye. Before he could shout out a warning, a woman came hurtling toward Splint with a knife clutched blade-side down in hand. Blaze immediately rushed the figure, ramming his shoulder into her abdomen just as the tip of the blade swept across the side of Splint’s head. 

“Shit!” Splint cried out. 

Blaze grunted as he hit the ground. He immediately grasped for the pistol in his holster and pressed the cold barrel of the gun to the woman’s forehead. She stared up at him with a venomous glare before reluctantly raising her empty hands in surrender. He pushed himself up slowly, gaze and gun locked on the dirt-smeared face below. 

“Hey, you alright?” He called out over his shoulder. A string of profanity came in response. “Glad to hear it.”

When he looked down, the woman’s demeanour had completely changed. Gone was the steely defiance and hatred, replaced by wide-eyed fear and vulnerability. Like this, she looked younger than he had thought her to be. With an exasperated sigh, Blaze let his arm fall. She _was_ younger than he had thought.

The girl’s eyes shone with a flicker of hope as she saw the gun drop to his side. She looked up at him with a silent plea, tentatively inching backwards as she lifted her torso off the ground. 

“She’s just a kid. We have to catch up with the others anyway. Let’s just -“

A small shriek pierced the air. Blaze stilled, unable to tear his eyes from the girl as her head snapped back, the force of the bullet slamming her body into the ground. A stream of blood trickled down her forehead and leaked into her cropped hair. Though her open eyes were still with death, her fingers twitched sporadically before coming to a rest. 

“Come on, let’s go.” Splint walked past without a glance, a thin cloud of smoke still trailing from his rifle.

“What… What the _hell_ , Splint?” 

Finally broken from his trance, Blaze stormed ahead. “What the hell? You didn’t need to do that. You didn’t need to fucking _kill_ her.” 

Splint gave no indication of having heard him. He continued on without a word.

“Hey, did you hear me? You didn’t need to -“

Suddenly, Splint whipped around and slammed his arm into Blaze’s chest. He shoved him back hard into a nearby tree, keeping a firm grasp when he tried to fight back. 

“ _Yes_ , I did. Just think it through, Blaze. What do you think’d be the first thing she’d do once she got back to Mom and Dad - who, if they weren’t already a part of this shitshow, would probably be the next round of attackers pelting us with bullets and grenades. Or, better yet, say she’s from a group with bigger guns and bigger numbers who could wipe us out in a heartbeat. What do you think that would mean for us? For _our_ lives?” 

Though his face was contorted with anger and frustration, there was a frantic look in his eyes that betrayed the fear they both felt, the fear that everyone who lived felt no matter how much they tried to hide it. It was a fear that connected them all, and yet inexorably tore them apart. 

He loosened his grip on Blaze’s shirt, then lifted the pressure from his chest. “We have to think about ourselves. That’s just the way it is. It’s the way it has to be, unless you want to end up with your guts and brains splattered across the pavement to rot under the sun like them.” He gestured towards the corpses lining the street behind them. 

Blaze exhaled sharply, rubbing the pain from his battered chest. He stared straight at Splint, unable to voice the barrage of thoughts running through his head. He wanted to tell him that there was another way to live. That taking the chance of letting an innocent kid go was worth the risk if the alternative meant ending her life on the spot. That killing wasn’t the only option. But those thoughts were quashed before they could reach his mouth. 

“And you know what? I think you know that too. I’ve seen you kill. So don’t get up on your high horse and lecture me about morals and compassion. Compassion…” He laughed, the word contorting his mouth like it was foreign, unfamiliar, or at least long forgotten. “Compassion is archaic. It’s dead - and for good reason. It gives all the power to the enemy. It ends with a knife in the back, a bullet to the head. It always…” He lowered his gaze to the dead foliage rotting the ground. A regressive darkness cast a shadow in his eyes. 

The two stood motionless, neither one able to speak or move over the looming silence. Somewhere from the mass of branches above, a lone bird trilled softly, as if oblivious to the world around it.

Blaze swung his rifle over his shoulder by the strap, then took a step forward. He made as if to clasp a hand over Splint’s shoulder, but paused and with a deep breath continued forward.

“Your head’s bleeding,” was all he said. 


End file.
